


It's Just No Good

by Shippershape



Category: Pitch (TV 2016)
Genre: F/M, Mike's jealous and Ginny just wants to play baseball
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-05
Updated: 2016-10-05
Packaged: 2018-08-19 15:59:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,900
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8215745
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shippershape/pseuds/Shippershape
Summary: “Probably not the smartest move.” The words slip out before he can stop them, and he regrets them immediately. But not, apparently, enough to shut his goddam mouth before more come out. “Hooking up on the road.”
Her head snaps back to stare at him, eyes burning a hole in the side of his head.
“Why’s that?” Her voice is quiet, daring him.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Oh look, I wrote 2 Pitch fics in like 7 hours. Whoops.

He hears her come in around eight, not that he’s been listening for it. Waiting up for her. That would be pathetic.

There’s a thud from the other side of the thin hotel walls, probably her dropping her bag-her _overnight_ bag-and then the sound of running water. Mike tries not to think about _that_. He’s sprawled out on the couch, eyes glued to the television, and then her face is smiling out at him from the screen and that’s just-well, it’s not helping at all.

Someone in management seems to have taken it upon themselves to make sure he ends up next to Baker whenever they’re on the road. Maybe they figure he’ll look out for her, maybe they figure he’s less likely to fuck around and ruin her night on purpose than some of the other still sore asshats on the team, he doesn’t know. Hell, maybe they have a bet going for how long it will take for him to really mess things up by trying to stick his dick in the rookie. Not that management would like that. No, that would be one mistake even Mike Lawson isn’t stupid enough to make.

Yet.

The shower turns off. Because of the fact that he’s spent the last six away games listening to it, Mike knows Ginny sings in the shower. She’s got the voice of a fucking angel, obviously, because someone in the great beyond seems to be seriously holding a grudge against him, but there’s no singing today. His hand tightens around the remote as he turns up the volume. He _really_ needs to stop thinking about his pitcher.

But of course the woman herself comes strolling into his room a few minutes later, no knocking, nothing, and drops herself onto the couch beside him.

“I take it your date went well,” he mutters, not even looking at her. Beside him, she shrugs.

“Yeah, it was good.”

She smells like peaches. He stifles a groan.

“Great.”

They sit in silence for a few minutes, watching the news, because sports channels are a bit of a gamble these days, and eventually she turns to look at him.

“What’s up with you?” She asks, and when he finally cranes his neck to return her gaze, she’s frowning.

He frowns back.

“Nothing.”

It’s not out of the usual, her hanging out in his room like this. The other guys like to go out a lot, and while both of them tag along enough to keep up appearances, they have good reasons for needing a little more alone time. He’s old. She’s…well. She has to put up with a lot of shit, when she goes out with the team, and Mike knows it tires her out after a while. So he’ll hole up in his hotel room, ice his knees and drink his beer in solitude like the cranky closer-to-forty-than-thirty man he truly is, and Ginny turns up occasionally too. When she’s bored, when she’s tired of Amelia, when she’s nursing a bad mood and wants someone with a little backbone to spar with. He doesn’t mind being her quiet place. Hell, he probably likes it a lot more than he should.

 “Your knees bugging you or something?”

He scowls. Ginny doesn’t bring that up much, knows he hates to talk about the fact that his body is a ticking time bomb. A countdown to the end of his career.

“My knees are fine.”

She sighs, seems to sense that he’s in a mood, and not a talking one. Turns back to the TV.

“Probably not the smartest move.” The words slip out before he can stop them, and he regrets them immediately. But not, apparently, enough to shut his goddam mouth before more come out. “Hooking up on the road.”

Her head snaps back to stare at him, eyes burning a hole in the side of his head.

“Why’s that?” Her voice is quiet, daring him. He sighs, almost faltering at the ice in her gaze when he turns back to face her.

“Look, you’re under a lot of microscopes right now. I’m just saying, the press-”

“Oh.” She laughs, cutting him off. “Are you serious? You, of _all people_ , want to talk about how my sex life affects my reputation?”

He winces at that, at the realization of how very much he does _not_ want to talk about her sex life. Refusing to admit to himself why that might be, he just shrugs, turning his glower back to the TV.

“Just looking out for you.” He’s fucking lying, lying _through his teeth_ , and he just prays she can’t see why. She gets to her feet, and half of him thinks _good, get on out of here_ , but the other half hopes pathetically that she’ll stay.

“You know, just because you’re sleeping with my agent does not mean I want your opinion on my personal life.” Her words are full of fire, and a little hurt. Mike turns off the TV, swiveling to stare at her.

“You know about that?”

His question, or maybe the tone of it, seems to catch her off guard.

“Yeah,” she says warily. “Why? Was it a secret?”

It wasn’t, not really. But there was a part of him, the part that didn’t tell anyone about it, that didn’t want Ginny to know. And now he’s looking at her, and there’s nothing there, no flicker of whatever he wanted her to feel, jealousy maybe, and disappointment flares in his chest, morphing almost instantly into anger. Anger’s easier.

“This has nothing to do with Amelia,” he grunts, and jesus, is he really going to start a fight with her? Over this?

“Then what’s your problem?” She asks, crossing her arms defensively over her chest. All that does is push her breasts up under the edge of her tank top, and he looks away, feeling gross.

“I just don’t want to see you throw your career away for a good time! I figured you didn’t like all the attention, don’t know why you’d be opening yourself up for more.” Mike throws the remote onto the couch, stalking to the mini fridge to grab a beer. Ginny watches him screw the top off and flick it away, expression unreadable.

“It was _one date_ ,” she says halfheartedly, and god, he wishes she’d just yell at him instead of standing there, looking so unsure. His words hit a nerve, he realizes. “That’s-so, what? I have to choose? Between having a life and being an athlete? That’s-” She waves her hand angrily. “I didn’t ask for this! All this attention, the media following me everywhere, being a-being _the_ role model for all these little girls! I just wanted to play baseball!”

She’s mad now, at least, eyes burning into his face, but there are tears glimmering at her lashes, and fuck, he feels like an asshole.  

 “Just-forget it.” He takes a few long drags on his beer, wishing the whole morning would reset. “Nevermind.”

She makes a disgusted noise, turning on her heel. His door slams so hard the vase on the coffee table shakes.

.-.-.-.-.-.

He stops seeing Amelia. Some sick part of him wonders if she knows what he said about Ginny, if she told her.

The pitcher avoids him, as much as a pitcher _can_ avoid her catcher. He misses her smiling at him. Miller tells a filthy joke in the dugout, gets both dimples and a surprised laugh, and Mike resists the urge to throw something at him.

It takes him a week to realize it’s no good like this.

It’s just no good.

.-.-.-.-.-.

As he strolls into Baker’s room, it occurs to Mike that she might be naked, or sleeping, that he really didn’t think this through. But-

Ah, tough. She does it to him all the time.

She’s not naked, much to his disappointment, or sleeping. She looks up from where she’s sitting on the bed, cross legged, watching TV. When she sees who it is, her expression instantly turns wary.

“What do you want, Mike?”

 He holds up the bag of takeout and a six pack.

“To apologize.” It’s long overdue, he knows. He just hopes it’s not too late. Her eyes flit to the food and back to his face. For a long second, she just looks at him, looks _through_ him. Then she sighs.

“Fine.” Pointing at the food, she uncrosses her legs, crawls across the bed and hops off. “Did you get extra guac?”

“Of course I got the damn guac, who-” he mutters, but she takes the bag from him before he can finish. If his lips tug up in a smile, he’d deny it. Ginny pulls out one of the tacos, taking a massive bite. She swipes her thumb along the bottom of her lip, wiping at the smear of salsa there, and sticks it in her mouth. His own mouth goes a little dry. Then she looks back up at him, expectantly.

“Weren’t you going to apologize?”

Right. He sinks into the chair across from her at the tiny dining table, reaching for a beer.

“I shouldn’t have said that stuff about you hooking up on the road,” he says awkwardly. She just blinks at him, waiting. “I’m sorry.” The words stick a little coming out, but her eyes soften, and he decides it was worth it.

“You were right,” she mumbles into another bite of her taco, frowning at him as she chews, then swallows. “You were being an ass, but you were right.”

He shifts uncomfortably in his chair.

“I don’t know-”

Ginny fixes him with a hard stare.

“You _do_ know. There’s a double standard. You get to go out and sleep with anyone you want. And yeah, they’ll call you a playboy, and sure you have a reputation, but it doesn’t have anything to do with how good a player you are.” There’s no judgment in her voice, just frustration. “And everyone knows that. But for me, all it takes is one guy, one night, and that’s what the press will be talking about. I’m a slut, I’m a whore-”

He grimaces at the words, rankles at the thought of anyone using them against her.

“-I’m _distracted_. A girl can’t play baseball with boys on her mind. I’ll be a liability.”

Her words sit between them for a moment, and he shakes his head.

“That’s bullshit.”

She looks at the half-eaten taco in her hand, sad.

“Yeah, but it’s exactly what they’ll say.”

She’s not wrong. And he _hates_ it.

“I’m sorry,” he says, again. “Look, you’re smart. You know how to be discrete, this doesn’t have to be a life-sentence of celibacy.” He kind of wishes it were, but only kind of. He likes Baker too much to actually wish that on her.

Her lips tug up on one side, a single dimple appearing.

“Maybe.”

“And hey, if you ever get lonely we could just ask Buck to get us adjoining rooms,” he adds, smiling lecherously. “I’ve been told I have a _reputation_.”

Her grin cracks a little wider, and she throws a diced tomato at him.

“Shut up.”

The tacos are mediocre, then again it’s kind of hard to get authentic tacos in Kansas City, but there’s a voice in the back of Mike’s head as he walks back to his own room later than night, that just thinks-

_Yeah. That’s better._


End file.
